With One Arm Tied Behind My Back
by Objective Mistress
Summary: It's the World Judo Championships in Rio de Janerio, and Korra has a lot more to worry about than her crush on Mako. [For the Makorra Summer Project]


**Title:** With One Arm Tied Behind My Back

 **Rating:** T

 **Word Count:** ~3200

 **Summary:** It's the World Judo Championships in Rio de Janerio, and Korra has a lot more to worry about than her crush on Mako.

 **Author Note:** Loosely inspired by Ronda Rousey's book. Such a pleasure to submit to the Makorra E-Book Project!

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Korra's mom had always been wise. She used to say that to really be the best in the world, you had to be able to beat anyone twice on your worst day. Because when it came down to it, the last thing she wanted to do was waste years of training and months of concentrated effort to lose in her first Judo World Championship.

She pulled herself out of bed, energy already coursing through her system. She was ready to face whatever anyone could throw at her on the mats.

Korra took a quick survey of the motel room as she grabbed her bag, pre-packed with her gis in blue and white, a USA patch on the back of each. The room was shit. It was all the USA Judo Association cared to pay for. Which meant that she got stuck rooming with Mako and Bolin, a pair of brothers, since there were an odd number of girls on the team.

Bolin still snored away, tucked within a cocoon of blankets of questionable cleanliness. The younger judoka was so much fun to be around, unlike his brother. But his cut down to the 85 kg weight class left him a bit lethargic, and without a match today, Korra wasn't surprised to see him sleeping in at six AM local time.

Mako, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. The stuffy idiot seemed to rise with the sun every morning naturally, even with the time change. Although taller than his brother, Mako was leaner, competing in the 77 kg weight class. His matches also had yet to take place yet; they always made the women go first. But she hadn't come here to worry about Mako.

Satisfied she was ready to go, Korra jumped on the scale tucked away in the corner of the room. 69 kg exactly. Perfect for her weight class.

The trip down to the lobby was quick and thankfully quiet. She liked to spend time alone before competition. She liked to cultivate a sort of unbreakable focus. Bolin jokingly called it the "Avatar State." He liked to say that if her eyes could glow white with aggression before a match, they would.

"Did you hear?"

Korra stopped midstride in the lobby. "And good morning to you too, Mako," her voice oozed sarcasm. Who didn't even bother to say good morning?

"One of the 62 kg German competitors got stabbed last night on his way to weigh-ins."

"Shit…" she shook her head. Rio was such a vibrant, wonderful city. But like every place, it had its dangers, especially for those that seemed out of place. "Well I'm heading out. First shuttle to the venue leaves in ten minutes."

"So you know about the scale then, right?"

She narrowed her eyes. His voice was just so smug. Korra resisted the urge to whirl around and unload on him for his unhelpfulness. What did it take to impress this guy?

"No, what?"

Mako frowned, "The US scales are light by .4 kilos."

"Fuck!" Korra screamed at the ceiling. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

So she didn't weigh 69 kg on the dot. She weighed _69.4 kg_. She was .4 kg overweight. At Worlds you didn't get a second chance; step on the scale overweight and you were done. Not competition. Kicked out. All that time wasted. She had to drop the weight she just had to.

Korra dropped her backpack to the ground and pulled out her pair of plastics, a set of warm ups made of (you guessed it) plastic. It kept your body warm and forced you to sweat, dropping water weight.

"What are you doing?" Mako's eyes widened as Korra stripped off her t-shirt and shorts in the middle of the lobby before pulling on the plastics.

"I'm putting on my fucking plastics, what does it fucking look like I'm doing?" Korra practically growled. "I'm running to weigh-ins to drop the water weight! Fucking incompetents and their fucking light scales," she grumbled and pulled out a pair of cotton sweats from her bag that she then layered over the plastics.

"Are you crazy?" Mako grabbed her arm. "Did you hear what I said? That dude got stabbed last night!"

"You really think I'm not going to do this?" She ripped her arm away. "I'm going to fucking make weight then fucking win Worlds!"

"Is the constant use of 'fuck' really necessary?" He raised an eyebrow.

Korra thought for a moment before levying him with a harsh gaze, "Fuck you."

She took off at a jog through the lobby, and then settled into a quick running pace. It was a two-mile journey to the hotel hosting the tournament. By her estimations, she could get there in eighteen minutes; it would have been faster if she didn't have to carry her bag.

"Hey! Wait up!" Mako called after her. His long legs quickly let him catch up to her.

"What are you doing?"

"You really thought I'd let you run alone?"

"Fine," she pulled her hood up over her head. "But you better not slow me down. If anyone tries to stab me today they are going to fucking get it."

Mako rolled his eyes, knowing well that his stride would let him overtake her easily.

September in Rio wasn't fall, it was still summer. The hot South American sun beat down on her, roasting her beneath her two sets of sweats. Sweat poured down her face and into her eyes; Korra had a hard time wiping it all away with her sleeve. But this was what she needed.

She could hear Mako pounding the pavement the entire way to the plush, five-star hotel. Why did he insist on following her? Didn't he know she could take care of herself? For a guy that seemed to find every opportunity to discount her skills on the mats despite kicking his ass in _randori waza_ (free sparring that wasn't "competitive," as Tenzin reminded, her but _competitive_ all the same), he seemed to care a lot. The heat that she felt in her face could easily be blamed on the run, but Korra knew that it was more. Deep down she had a grudging crush on the judoka.

The air conditioning of the host hotel smacked her like a wall of ice, raising goose bumps on her skin.

"Hold my bag and my stuff," Korra spun around to Mako. "You might as well make yourself useful if you're going to be here." She began to strip off her sweats and plastics.

"Korra," Mako hissed. "Okay so you did this in the lobby at our crap hotel…but here?" He looked around at who he could assume were judges.

"They're going to judge how I do on the mats, not here," Korra shrugged, peeling her plastics off and tossing them into Mako's arms.

She silently hoped that she was on weight because pulling on already used plastics were a nightmare; they just stuck everywhere with the sweat and moisture. Korra stepped on the practice scale.

69 kg

Right on target. Korra clenched her fist and gave herself a silent cheer.

"Okay, you're gonna make weight," Mako held out the clothing in his arms.

"I'm not putting that stuff back on to parade fifty feet," Korra crossed her arms, oblivious that she was the only person stripped down to her sports bra and compression shorts in the lobby. "Just turn around so I can get my ID out of my bag."

After a few moments of sorting through the chaos of her bag, she retrieved her ID and strode over to the official weigh in. The official gave her a funny look as he checked her in and motioned for her to step on the scale.

Korra never had difficulty making weight. Tenzin was on top of things with helping her keep her diet on track when competition was hurtling down the pipeline at her, and discipline of training with him for years kept her on her conditioning.

69 kg

Now the hard part would begin.

The waiting.

It really was the worst part for her. The matches…okay, so they weren't a breeze (what was at the elite level anyway?), but passing the minutes or hours until her first match was hell. She paced in her blue gi, black belt tied around her waist as the first of the 69 kg matches began. She felt hydrated. She felt loose and ready to go. All she needed was the signal to go on.

"You need to be more patient," Mako leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable as ever.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Korra deadpanned. She just wanted to ignore him until it was time to fight.

The first match wasn't bad. It was a win. It was enough for Tenzin to clap her heartily on the back after. Yet still not enough for Mako, who gave her only a stoic thumbs up.

From the moment the girls stepped on the mat, Korra knew what to do. Her posture was very upright, rigid almost. Textbook. It's what they taught you to do. Keep your posture strong, keep your grips on the lapels of your opponent's gi strong and resist their tugs and lures into a throw.

So Korra did the opposite. She was able to bend herself out of the single genre of judo. Yes she was a judoka, but she was also a wrestler, a Brazilian jiu-jitsu practitioner, and a sambo enthusiast. Her game had four dimensions while many of her opponents' only had one. And while a double-leg wrestling take down in which you had to grab the legs was illegal in modern judo, it let her think in a new direction. When she had first come under Tenzin's tutelage, her blending of genre infuriated him endlessly. Eventually she was able to appreciate his pure judo practice for competition, but kept enough of everything else to piss Mako off with a surprise fireman's carry takedown when he was being a stick in the mud.

The match was a brawl. Korra hustled around the traditional fighter, throwing her off balance until she finally took her down with an _Osoto Gari._ It was literally one of the first throws a beginning judoka learned, and was easy to execute and easy to counter unless done right. With a grip on the woman's collar and sleeve she turned her like a wheel, loading her weight up on her right food before moving her right leg in a circle to block the back of her knee against her opponent's. With no ability to step back and her weight loaded, Korra tossed her to the ground.

The next match wasn't as easy. The woman was strong, stronger than she was. She was grounded like earth, heavy and rooted. Gripping her was like holding on to a sheer rock face. She was more difficult to control.

But what did Tenzin like to say?

Flow like air.

She preferred _flow like water_.

So she moved. Staying quick on her feet, but solid in posture. Strong didn't equate to better in judo. Eventually everyone made a mistake that she could exploit. About a minute in, Korra saw her opening. She squeezed as hard as she could on her sleeve and collar grips before dropping her hips into a squat while turning her back to her opponent. She pulled the woman's weight over her hip as she drove her up and forward in an _O Goshi_. It was one of her favorite throws. There was a satisfying thump as the other person smacked into the mat.

"How's that, Cool Guy?" Korra wiped the sweat off her forehead before redoing her bun.

"Not bad," he shrugged, trying not to smile.

She took a huge gulp from the carton of coconut water that Tenzin kept for her. "What does it take to impress this guy?"

"Hmm…" Mako stroked his chin. "How about a first place finish?"

Korra rolled her eyes. "You really think I would win for _you_?"

"No," he cracked a genuine smile. "You're too driven for that."

"You're damn right I am."

Two matches and two wins later, Korra guaranteed her spot in the finals. Adi was her opponent. They had faced each other in in the British Open a few months ago. Adi had been disqualified for an illegal armbar in the quarterfinals, which dislocated her elbow and prevented her from continuing to compete. Figures; she was one of Tahno's training partners. They were dirty fighters, all of them.

But that didn't matter. Winning mattered. Claiming her first world title was what mattered. And kicking Adi's ass for fucking up her elbow was what mattered.

Korra approached the center of mat two. Adi leered at her from a few feet away as they bowed.

The ref gave them each a quick nod. " _Hajime._ "

Match on.

Korra feelt Adi's powerful grip on her gi and breaks her hold. They circled, quickly darting in with lightning fast hands to try to catch a grip. Adi got one first, grasping tightly at the fabric just above the elbow. Korra leaned forward, keeping her back straight as she puts two hands on Adi's sleeve. She stepped back and forced her hands forward. But it wasn't enough; the woman sunk another grip in on her collar. So Korra did the same; one hand on her lapel, one on the sleeve.

Adi started to pull her forward. It's a _Seoi Otoshi_ , a shoulder throw with the feet still spread beyond shoulder width. It was one of Mako's favorite throws. With this height, it's still possible to hit on people of his weight class. So Korra knew what to do; she circled quickly, sending Adi sprawling to the mat stomach-down. But Adi protected her arms quickly, sending the match to a standing reset.

They started again, gripping up tightly on one another. Korra tried a few foot sweeps with no success; her stance was just too strong. Adi started to move quickly with power. Korra knew what was happening a second too late. She felt her arm twist as they tumbled to the ground. It was the same fucking illegal armbar that got Adi disqualified.

Her elbow popped. Searing pain jolted up her arm leaving a horrible burning, persisting agony behind. Adi stood, ready for the reset, finally freeing Korra's arm. Just the motion of moving her arm sent another wave of shocking pain up her arm.

"Did you not see that?" Tenzin shouted. "That was illegal!"

Korra gritted her teeth, but the ref had no reply. He hadn't seen it. _The ref fucking hadn't seen it_.

"This is bullshit!" Mako cried from the sidelines.

"What the hell!" Bolin chimed in. Apparently he had managed to drag himself out of bed.

"Korra you've got this!" Mako yelled.

She glared at Adi, motioning to her limp elbow.

Adi shrugged with a smirk.

Spirits, she was so angry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell.

"You can still win!" He yelled.

Korra took a deep breath. Mako was right. As much as he infuriated her, he was a balancing force. He could keep her head level when they trained, tempering her anger and frustration when things weren't going right.

Arguing wasn't going to win her a world title. But fighting through to the end could.

She put her hand on her forearm. She gritted her teeth and tensed her dislocated arm. In one quick motion she pushed on her injured forearm as hard as she could. The joint snapped back into place with a sickening pop. Korra grunted. It hurt like hell, but with her forearm back where it belonged, her pain faded to a tolerable ache.

She nodded to the ref.

" _Hajime."_

Match on.

Adi showed no remorse, none at all as they circled again. Korra tried to baby her injured arm the best she could, but she couldn't win with one arm tied behind her back. Adi made a quick throw, scoring a point before backing away to a very defensive strategy.

 _Fuck you, I'm going to fucking win this_.

[30 seconds]

Spirits she needed to figure out a way to win.

[29 seconds]

Korra reached in with her strong arm only to have the grip broken.

[28 seconds]

She reached again.

[27 seconds]

Adi stepped back out of her reach.

[26 seconds]

Korra reached.

[25 seconds]

Her hand sunk in tightly on Adi's lapel.

[24 seconds]

Adi moved in, going for a throw, breaking Korra's grip.

[23 seconds]

 _Fuck no she's not going to throw me she's not going to fucking throw me_.

[22 seconds]

Korra countered.

The timing was perfect as she dropped her center of gravity. Korra gripped her one-handed on her injured side. She turned, pulling Adi's weight over her shoulder. She felt her opponent's feet leave the ground as she leaned forward, flipping Adi forward and sending her back to the ground with great force.

 _Ippon Seoinage_. One-handed shoulder throw. Maybe she only needed one hand after all.

She had won.

Korra jumped into the air as the crowd erupted in cheers. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment of victory. She was the world champion.

She ran towards her team. Before Tenzin or Bolin could reach her, Mako swept her into a hug. He picked her off of her feet, spinning her in a circle before placing her gingerly on the ground. His lips were suddenly on hers. Korra was so stunned she just stood there, one arm cradled against her chest.

"Oh shit…" he pulled away, face red. "I-I don't know what came over me I—"

Korra grabbed his shirt with the same bruising grip that brought Adi to the mat and kissed him fast and hard. She probably tasted like sweat. She probably smelled. But she sure as hell didn't fucking care. All she knew was that she surely tasted like victory. She was kissing Mako. _She was kissing Mako_.

"Mako…" she pulled away.

"Yeah?"

"Get me an icepack."

"What?"

"An icepack. My elbow."

Mako's eyes widened. He had forgotten. "Oh right ice I…fuck I…"

Bolin thrust an instant icepack into his brother's hands.

"Thank you," Korra winced, pressing the ice on her elbow after rolling up her blue gi sleeve.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?" She stepped back. "I didn't think you dated teammates."

"Well, if you think you can handle me," Mako grinned, his arms around her waist.

"Handle you?" Korra scoffed before laughing heartily, still reeling from the kiss. "I can 'handle' you with one arm tied behind my back."


End file.
